


They Are Alive and Well Somewhere

by easternfront



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Character Death, First Time, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Time Travel, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easternfront/pseuds/easternfront
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inception Bingo 2016 1x4 Extra, or what I call AllInOne. ;) (Time travel, first time/last time, unrequited love, meeting parents/family)</p><p>Eames has never been able to stop. He's ripped away from the moments where he's needed the most.</p><p>The chapter titles are from Ludovico Einaudi songs. You might want to listen to the chosen song while reading but it isn’t necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Are Alive and Well Somewhere

**The Earth Prelude ******

His mind was spinning and he was no longer able to focus enough to stop. He saw his arms and hands stretched outwards like he was trying to claw his way into emptiness. Desperate to grab something, some reference to tell his mind to stop. His breathing was laborious and wheezy. Somewhere in the distance white curtains bulged into the room from the wind outside. His sweat moistened skin felt every burst of fresh sea air rushing through the open double doors. He tried closing his eyes for a moment, to stop the room from tremoring. It only made the tightening of the chest feel worse, irregular heart beats were the remainings of a life no longer alive.

His own hands had turned now to claw on his skin again. Ripping at the memories he’d collected there, hunting the ones he’d already lost and longed for. Faded imprints in his chest and arms reminded of the time he so desperately wanted to stop through all these years. Frail old nails met nothing but white clean cotton surrounding him from everywhere. His feeling was lost, was this his skin or memories. He kept clawing with the fingers that no longer had any strength.

His hands stopped, his breathing stopped. Without any real determination he held his breath, listened to the world moving on outside; the sea, the sand, the house creaking, the birds and children laughing. He longed to hear the strong buzz of those large metallic green beetles that seemed to defy reality, time and gravity with their round bodies in fast flight; the keepers of the unexplainable force. The sun was silent but he could feel it, the warmth he had travelled for thousands of miles, hundreds of moments ago. He was never able to stay. Not in here, not in anywhere. He was always ripped away before he could stop.

Silence was overwhelming, blood wasn’t humming in his ear. No rattle from the old lungs. It was silent, he was finally stopping. He never found home.

 

**Petricor ******

Arthur’s lower back had fuzzy hairs that looked almost translucent in the sunlight. His head rested on the man’s ass cheeks and his view up to Arthur’s shoulder blades and neck was exquised. His right arm was pressed against Arthur’s ribs and he felt them move slowly up and down with each breath. His own calloused hands seemed incredibly large when they circled his waist and neck. Arthur was a lithe little thing and full of anger and resentment and Eames quite did not understand why he had been able to get the man to come up to his place, sleep with him and let him use the man as a pillow.

He’d slept with men before, well three to be exact and he was pretty sure Arthur hadn’t slept with any. Although women were nice, he liked this; the elongated angles of the hip bones, the strong tendons behind the knees and slight stubble. Arthur was all angles and fury, strong hands and reddening skin. No woman can ever give him this.

Arthur looked at him over his shoulders with expressionless face. The curls were slightly damp from sweat and his lips were red from the chafing. But the eyes said nothing. Now would probably be a good time to make sure Arthur was old enough to have sex with grown men because you never knew with Mal’s humor if ‘legal’ meant legal as in fifteen as opposed to 21. Before he could say anything Arthur began turning and lifted his hips with a devious smile on his lips. Oh, well then.

It was well over midnight and dark when he woke up for the second time. Arthur was sitting next to the window and smoking. The old wooden chair let out a small creak every time he leaned to drop ash out of the window. Eames saw that the pack was his. Arthur sat slightly sideways with his other leg lifted onto the wide window sill and for a moment he didn’t register that Eames had woken up. He looked solemn and calm and not so young as he had looked at the party. His whole body was relaxed and he seemed to be looking at nothing specific. The street lights gave just enough light to make apparent the recent wounds criss crossing Arthur’s upper chest and neck. Two long scars meeting almost in the middle creating the illusion of a cross gone slightly tilted or a sword that had just retreated from creating another round scar at the base of the throat. 

Wounds were still puffy and the stitch marks were clearly visible. When he had reached for them in bed Arthur had flinched and he had no longer tried. He closed his eyes for few seconds and as he opened them he saw Arthur extend his arm for him: “Come.” He sat up and walked over to him. “Sit.” For a second he wondered what the man meant but then sat down to Arthur’s thigh. The chair creaked louder and for few seconds he wondered if he could rest his whole weight to this thin thigh. At the same time Arthur nodded and rested his hand with the cigarette to his knee. He felt the hand push and he sat down with his whole weight.  
“Look there.” Arthur was pointing out to the house opposite to them. A young woman was sitting by a piano but didn’t play. “She’s been sitting there for as long as I’ve sat here.” Arthur’s voice was calm and quiet. “She sits there and looks at the keys…”  
“She’s crying.” His own voice startles him. It’s rough and loud, almost loud enough to carry across the void between the houses and into the woman’s ears.  
“I do that. I just sit and stare. I did it a lot at the medic center. Of course I couldn’t walk right after but I just wheeled myself almost against the glass wall and just sat there looking at the parking lot.”

Arthur stubbed his cigarette and sighed: “I haven’t gone home since then. When they let me out from Landstuhl I wanted never to see home again and the army no longer needs me.” He tapped his raised knee: “Bails out on me when push comes to shove.”  
Eames smiled and bounced lightly on the other leg: “So how about this one? Ready to try it out on a soft landing?” For the first time Arthur smiled: “Yeah, fly me to the moon and land me safely back on earth.”  
“As you wish my darling.”

Following morning was cold and the rain was pushing inside the open window. Arthur sniffled next to him. Eames could hear how his mobile vibrated around the desk opposite the bed. He didn’t quite want to go back to the world of running and negotiating. He wanted to stay here and smell the clean sheets and the strange new smell emanating from Arthur. He had a flight booked to Cairo for the morning and now that ticket had turned from and excellent excuse to a horrible burden.

If he tells Yusuf again that he was bailing out on a deal and he’d ask and Eames could not lie convincingly. He’d be ‘caught in a bed’ story and be laughed at. His father’s voice filled his head: _Eames the poofter loses out on the deal because of a guy, a stiff american. Getting a little stiff rod from that one, eh? _ __He kicked the duvet away from him and sat up. He’d have to go and get this thing sorted out now. Running to Paris to be pampered by Mal had been a mistake to begin with and sooner he gets up, gathers his clothes the less chances he will have to explain himself to this man, this lovely…__

Arthur is awake and has been looking at him. His face is slightly mushed against the hard pillows of the hotel room. He looks straight at him and Eames can see the panic in them. The panic he'd felt for years; the fear of loneliness. He cannot face that look but stands up pulling his briefs from underneath the bed. They are going on the wrong way around. He cannot spend any seconds on finding the socks. Was he even wearing socks? He pulls the loose trousers on, tightens the clinking belt too tight and forgets to put on his undershirt. The buttons on his shirt feel too small and he manages to close only few of them. He still has not glanced towards Arthur and this rushing has made his breath short and his pulse raise. As he’s furiously pulling his shoe laces tighter, the only thought is: if only he could remember where his wallet is and please don’t let it be where it most likely is...at the night table...on Arthur’s side.

He cannot hear the city waking up to another day, the rain, the closing doors and luggage being pulled in the hallway. He cannot feel the cold that has taken over his skin. Without seeing anything he turns to Arthur but doesn’t look. He reaches for the wallet but Arthur takes ahold of his wrists and now he sees it. The twisted face of this beautiful man, the bared teeth and the questions in his eyes: “In such a hurry now are we? Does the morning and sobriety scare you?” The voice is cold and mean. He rips his hand away, grabs the wallet and walks to the door. Arthur’s voice is loud but comes through to his ears like in a tunnel: “ Fuck you then you coward!”

He sees the door handle being pushed down but he can no longer see his hand. The voices disappear, the hallway is half white. The closing hotel room door doesn’t make a sound as it fades away. He’s loosing the day again. His ears fall into complete silence and the pulse stops beating his thoughts are the only ones that keep him in motion. He doesn’t want to go. 

He tries to turn around, he can walk back in and say it was all a morbid, childish joke. He faces a wall of white and emptiness that always takes him away. No room to go back to, no warm, scarred body to hold just him and million moments moving forward and around. Reassembling into pieces that he again has to collect. His heart stops beating and his nowhere is back again.

**Discovery At Night ******

Mirror was old and full of black flecks. Even through the blood trickling down from his head wound to his eyes he could see he didn’t look good. His beige linen suit was torn and dusty, his belt was hanging loose from broken belt hoops. He was amazed he was still alive.

This small and dirty gas station just outside Tangiers was the last place he’d imagine finding himself today, bleeding and hurting all over. Most importantly it was empty and the three hundred euros he had given to the clerk had provided him with privacy and shelter. He double glanced the door to make sure it was locked and shed his jacket to the counter. The amount of blood on his shirt made him feel weak at the knees. He realised at that moment that if he had any internal bleeding he’d be dead in less than an hour. Staggered by the pain and the fear he leaned over the sink and vomited violently into it. Previously enjoyed couscous filled the sink and made him feel even worse.

He bend his knees and dropped to the floor in a big heap and a pitiful moan escaped from his mouth as his ribs pressed together. Several of them had to be broken. A two hundred pound hound dog had stomped on them repeatedly as if he was trying to crush a bug, which the man most definitely saw him as. He’d crawled away from the laughing man and the guy had stomped on him more.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the total blackness. It had been ages since his mind had been completely empty like this. He’d been too excited, too boisterous and that had cost him this much...this time. If he hadn’t been able to push one of his chasers under a passing lorry, he’d be dead now. Henchmen still had honor amongst their ranks and stopped to care for their friend. Did henchmen have friends? He chuckled and felt it right away in his ribs.

Michael had ratted him out no doubt. There was no way they could have found him in here. He’d taken three ferries and hitched a ride with a fishing boat to Tangiers instead of public transport. He’d paid cash and avoided all cameras and official ports and they still found him. I guess it just meant that when a Monaco casino wanted its money back, it would get its due, one way or the other. Money that he pretty much no longer had. He was sure the chase was nothing but a mission to squash this bug in their system.

He’d have to disappear for real, stop counting altogether, maths was no longer to be his favorite subject. His hands shook as he pulled himself up from the floor. He started to peel off his shirt slowly. Some of the blood had already began to stiffen the shirt. He managed to pull the shirt halfway off his when he saw the deep cut to his side and threw up again. He’d need a doctor to stitch it up. He’d need antibiotics, he’d need physio…

He opened the faucet and splashed water to his face, after awhile he found it unpractical and tilted his torso as much as his aching ribs allowed him to and pushed his entire head under the water flow. The wound somewhere in this scalp stung but the cool water helped him to calm down a bit. He drank straight out of the tab and let some of the water flow right down to his back, not caring if the floor began looking like at the butchers.

He pulled from underneath the flow of the water and looked up at the mirror: had the mirror been that unclean the whole time. His face was all fuzzy and distorted and his head wound kept bleeding. He wondered if his brain was going to ooze out slowly like this.

His last night in Monaco had been his 20th birthday, the new year had just turned. Exuberant room service orders and group of people he hardly knew. Michael had brought over all these pretty girls in their small dresses and some footballer had arrived with his entire posse and ordered a 1600 euro bottle of red wine which had later toppled over to the carpet and bled there without anyone getting to have a taste.

He felt nauseous and stepped away from the pool of blood and staggered to the other side from the sinks. He tried to lean against the tiled wall but his knees no longer held his weight and he fell to the floor. The ribs gave him a jolt and he could no longer breath. Every pull of breath turned into a useless nod. He must look like a bobble head. With his legs spread out in front of him he realised he was missing his other shoe. His Gucci loafer. The other one was at an odd angle. His ankle was no longer in place.

Eyelids began weighing him down. He no longer noticed the pain in his ribs. His head thudded backwards. The fluorescent light shone into his pupils and it filled his vision. His chest felt crumpled and he tried to get air inside his empty lungs again. Nothing moved and his ears began ringing.

The sudden thought of death filled him and he tried screaming for help. He screamed and screamed but nothing came out of his mouth. A steady whooshing from the open faucet filled the bathroom. He no longer saw with his opened eyes. His world was white and empty.

He’d never thought about death, not until now.

 

**Fuori Dalla Notte/Fuori Dal Mondo ******

“I love you.”

Arthur looked contented as he layed in the pristine white sheets. The small apartment had a view of the St. Peter’s church and it felt like whole Rome had silenced itself for their comfort. Eames half sat on the bed and looked down on naked Arthur laying diagonally in the bed. It was late October but the opened windows still pushed in warm air but the morning had already been cold.

Eames had woken up that morning with Arthur pressing himself against his back with that slender arm resting on top of his own. They had been here for two weeks now. Arthur had cried hours for Mal. Six weeks had passed from her funeral and for the first time the man had broken down. Until then he’d been fending off Mal’s parents, smiled for Phil and James, been interviewed several times by the FBI and argued for hours with Cobb in Paris but had stopped finally at Eames’s aggressive invention. He’d dragged Arthur to a train and told him to stop. Arthur had lost so much weight that he looked haggard and weak. Eames had planted him in front of smelly train toilet mirror and told him to stop before he’d die.

The quiet man had allowed to be ushered around the train terminal, to a taxi and up the apartment stairs like an old man. Buried in Eames’s duffel coat he looked like the teenager he remembered meeting all those years ago. Sullen and strong but defeated. Standing in that dark hallway with their luggage thrown down Arthur had grabbed his jacket collar with both hands and what Eames would describe a hiss, said: “I will not be rescued by you!”  
“I’m not going to save you, you are going to do it yourself. I know this because you have done it before, no?”  
With that Arthur had released him and screamed. One anguished scream and then silent tears followed. He hadn’t even tried to hide his tears from Eames but let his pain be visible and honest.

That evening was a replay of their first night together but in the morning Eames had been calm and relaxed. He hadn’t felt anxious but had fallen back to sleep inhaling the smell from Arthur’s thin neck.

They had enjoyed Rome, walked like tourists hours on end, eating all the pasta and seafood they could imagine. Arthur spent hours in clothing stores and tailors getting new suits that made Eames appreciate the male form in a whole new way entirely. They turned their phones off and forgot them in the bottom of their bags and read old fashionedly newspapers over their morning coffees and didn’t think about the internet and emails.

One night over their dinner plates Arthur had taken a hold of his hand on top of the table and tightly held it. The restaurant was in a small alley but was filled with people and Arthur just smiled: “Thank you.”  
Eames had always imagined what falling in love meant but when it happened it was better than he could have ever imagined. Not knowing almost anything about Arthur really but loving despite all that. Their own little private cloud of happiness.

That night as Arthur was riding him he saw his personal heaven in the man’s eyes. He often stored moments and movements unintentionally into his memory to use them later with his forges but this moment he was going to cherish as his own. There was no hurry, no panic to leave and forget, no pain or fear. Just them touching each other in perfect unison. Arthur’s skin was flushed and sweaty and his breathing was deep and controlled and he looked contented, he smiled and lowered himself to kiss Eames time and time again. When Arthur came he said the words: “I love you.” Without shame or regret.  
As Arthur leaned into his chest and he felt his own orgasm fade he panicked and his pulse began jumping. His legs were numb and as much as he blinked he had a hard time to focus in the yellowed hue of the street lights letting into the room. He pulled air through his nose and pushed it out from his mouth. He wasn’t going to let this happen. He grabbed onto Arthur like a drowning man and twisted them sideways so that he was also able to wrap his thighs around the man. He wasn’t going to go now, not now. Arthur seemed to be burrowing himself closer and closer to his chest and pretty soon they were breathing in unison.

Before they fell asleep he saw Arthur watching him with wide eyes: “Where did you go?”  
“What?”  
“It felt like you had gone somewhere where I couldn’t reach you.”  
He nodded and kissed Arthur's forehead. “I didn’t go...I didn’t leave.”

 

**Svanire ******

His walker fell over silently to the sand. He didn’t care. He had his drink and book at hand, it was warm and no chances of sudden rain spells. Chair was comfortable and most importantly he could see the sea from where he sat. His old faded green sunhat was pushed almost past his eyebrows which seemed to be the only part he was able to grow anymore.

Kanisa had gone to the market and visit her mother. Her stern words from last week echoed in his ears: “Do not fall over again Mr. Eames. I cannot be here lifting you up all the time. Promise me?” And he hadn’t, not for nearly two weeks. He’d had few of the men bolt long handles all over the house. They had already saved him several times from falling. Two weeks ago he’d arrived late back from a funeral in Mombasa and had been so tired that he’d fallen badly in the bathroom after Kanisa had already left home. He’d somehow wedged his body between the toilet seat and the bath and had to wait all through the night for Kanisa to return back to work.

Feebly lying there in the cold bathroom floor he had shed a few tears for the friend whose funeral he had hurried to without no concern for his own health. Yusuf had had five kids and a lovely wife who he had called “my minx” to her frustration. One of the sons had called timidly just moments after his father had passed away in a hospital and just said: “Father wanted only one person besides us to be here after he dies and that is you Mr. Eames.”

Yusuf had been true to his words; only his children, wife and Eames were there. Silent, quick ceremony where Yusuf’s wife had gripped his arm with such strength it later filled his arm with bruises. As one of the boys escorted him inside his house late at night and was turning he whispered: “Dad always called you the fading man of mystery and I don’t think he meant that with any irony. He said you were able to see the world in a way no-one else could and that is why you had so many people living inside of you. Mother was worried you’d disappear.” With that the tall, rounded middle aged man left and walked away. In the darkness Eames could see that he was the exact copy of his father; wandering yet determined gait with the long dangling, out of place arms.

Death was a constant visitor to his life now. He was one of the last of the creatures living, the old tortoise with a fading shell. Well, Ariadne was still in Paris and tortured students that with too much enthusiasm somehow found one of the greatest living architects in the world to talk to even though her main goal was to simply speak and not to answer questions. She’d let all of them have an audience but most of them left baffled and some of them even crying at her tough opinions on the student's bright minds and works. And what astonished Eames was that Ari could still dream with and without Somnacin and had been able to do so for her entire life. In her 73rd year on this earth she had been historically awarded with the second Pritzker Prize. She could build anything in a dream and _almost __anything in real life._

Saito’s funeral he hadn’t gone to. Saito never believed he’d die as a young man and certainly not in a freak accident but that was how it had happened. A wrong intersection and wrong time. His driver had speeded and the lorry crashed into the passenger side with fatal consequences. Funeral had been lavish and reported all over the world. The conglomerate was still in a unsettled mess, nearly twenty years after the great owner's death. A company is as strong as its leaders. Almost five years after the man’s death the yearly money transfers to the team members finally ceased. 

Cobb had died like a man of his ways, unannounced, sudden and with a big fuss. Two years ago a grey haired, grumpy old man had gone to a mall in Pasadena to exchange the wrong sized sneakers someone at the athletic store had wrapped up for him the day before and as he was approaching the cashier something had gone awry in his brain and Cobb had fallen right in the middle of the brand new sneaker display. All this had been told to him by Philippa who was a writer and most of all had loved her father and felt that a man like Dominic only deserved a death like that: “Only dad could drop dead at a shoe store!” He had seen the tears in her eyes.

As Dom’s coffin was lowered next to Mal’s grave a chapter in all of their lives had ended. There was no team left. He’d looked at Arthur standing next to Phil and James, resting his hand on James’s shoulder and supporting the grown man. James was remarkably alike Arthur: determined in life goals, rules and regulations guy and on the opposite end of the scale to Phil and they both represented Mal and Dom in their own ways. As the final words were said and Arthur looked directly at him, he only nodded and placed his hand to his chest, next to his heart. As fast as his arthritic legs had carried him he had hobbled to the closest mausoleum and sat down to the cold marble.

He’d gone without no warning.

The wind was throwing the loose debris on the sand. Perhaps it would rain today. His book would get terribly soggy. As he leaned into his chair he stopped breathing.

 

**La Notte della Taranta - Pizzica de Aradeo ******

“You dick!” Ariadne was now screaming and jumping around him. “Give it back!”  
“Not until you promise not to call him!”  
“I ain’t promising anything to you ever again!” She crossed her arms and leaned against the old brick wall and kicked her heels off her feet.

“How the fuck can you stand in those? And why the fuck do you have shoes like that on anyway?” Eames was still holding Ari’s phone high in the air. “Ah. You really like this guy? Shit Ari he’s the dick, not me.”

He began laughing even before he could say it out loud: “He’s a german dick and I have never had any good.” He was laughing so hard it made his eyes water and in his stupor Ariadne grabbed her phone back. She looked like she was ready to gouge Eames’s eyes out: “Fuck you!”

By the time Eames’s laugh settled down she was already walking towards the main square and turned to shout at him: “He’s swedish!”  
“Oh and that makes him better now does it?”  
“I don’t know. Is french dick better than the american you already had! Huh?”

Eames felt the blood rush to his head and his ears were ringing: “What do you mean by that? Don’t walk away from me!”  
“If you could see yourself now. You haven’t even zipped and you’re high as a kite but that is no excuse to cheat on someone.”  
“Technically I’m not cheating, I haven’t made any commitments. Never.”  
“HE has!” Ariadne’s voice was anguished and she stopped walking: “He has.” She leaned into a bush which almost kept her upright position.

Eames tried lighting a cigarette but dropped the whole packet and picking it up made him lose his balance and he fell on all fours to the ground. Ariadne began giggling uncontrollably and with each giggle she sank deeper into the hedge. Eames sat down, laid his leg straight in front of him and lit a crooked cigarette: “I didn’t smoke for a long time Ari. I swear I didn’t but yesterday I bought one from the shop and now I’m smoking again.”

Ari stopped laughing and looked at him: “He made you stop didn’t he? You did it together? That’s what people do together, they help and support each other and you just left him!” Ari struggled to get herself up from the hedge but finally managed and sat next to Eames. Without warning she reached for his hand and lifted it to her lap: “I was really alone in Paris when Dom came and found me. My french was crap and everyone hates americans here, especially in school they did because I didn’t apparently “deserve” my place and I was taking it from someone local.”

Ari soothed and petted Eames’s hand while she continued: “I felt excited and terrified at the same time when we did inception. I trusted you guys instantly.”  
“I know. Arthur told me.”  
“I thought...well let's just say I thought I might have had a chance…”  
“He feels bad about that whole…”  
“I know Eames, I’ve talked with him about everything. I know him way better than you think I do and he feels so alone sometimes, you know when you’re gone. You go without warning.”

Eames has a slight dizziness in his head, his eye sight vibrates and he tries closing his eyes to make the shaking go away. He doesn’t know if it’s the nicotine or the fading. Ari’s voice becomes distant: “He called me last week, drunk and crying. You hadn’t answered his calls. He said this was the last time Eames and I think he really means it this time.”

Eames can hear the harsh words of Arthur resonate in his head. He’s heard them over the phone, through facetime and shouted directly to his face: _"I hate you so much right now. Please don’t do this again!" __Arthur’s eyes usually become squinted and his jawbone begins trembling. He tries quickly to turn his face away to avoid Eames seeing the pooling tears; he hates nothing more than the possible embarrassment of being ridiculed for crying._

He smashes his fag to the ground and with wobbly legs stands up. Ari’s still holding his hand tightly in her grip: “Eames, please don’t go.”  
His inner voice just curses endlessly and he can no longer feel his fingers that are surrounded by Ari’s tiny hands. Ari looks down and panics, Eames’s hand dissolves from under her touch and his vision turns hazy grey, his own voice comes out as distant resonance from the emptiness: “I’m sorry Ari...so sorry, please take care of him...please…”

He can no longer see Ari’s shocked face. He only hears the distant beat from the tambourine and drums they heard at the concert earlier in the night. He’s tired of this. He tries to kick and scream against the whiteness but nothing happens and his consciousness is gone.

 

**Primavera ******

“Eames! Eames! Look at this!” The soap bubbles are tiny and float only for a short while in the brisk wind. “Looooook!” A pink fluffy jacket forms a tiny cape as Marie runs around the yard blowing bubbles. “Dad! Look, I can make them bigger! Dad!”  
Arthur smiles and nods: “I know, do as we practised.”

It’s the first warm day of spring and as Marie runs she leaps over the small blue crocuses that have just poked their head above the ground. Eames cannot imagine Arthur has planted them but they must have come with the house. It’s his first time in this house and after one hour he still hasn’t been invited in. A small cottage in the south coast of England is a funny place for a man like Arthur to stop. Arthur is wearing dark jeans and a purple cardigan wrapped around his wiry frame and a beanie that is pulled deep into his head. Eames hasn’t seen him this casual in years...he hadn’t seen Arthur in years. 

Arthur was a man of principle. When the threat of never seeing Eames again was said he hold onto that promise and for four years Eames wasn’t able to locate the man. He had subtly asked around from everyone he could think of but hadn’t find a trace of the man. Not until a PR department head of a huge electric car manufacturer in China had suddenly asked for a reference of Arthur Levine from Eames. A simple company exercise for the board members and would Eames be happy to work with their Levine Consulting. He had agreed and now he was sitting here, in a small house in the middle of nowhere looking at a small girl running around blowing soap bubbles in the wind.

“So…”  
“Is she mine? Is that what you want to know?”  
“Well to if you want to put it that crudely. Yes.”  
“She’s my daughter in every shape and form. Me and her might not share genes but I intend to give her the best life she can get.”

Eames nodded: “I didn’t think otherwise.”  
“She was born in Mumbai and I spent last four years there getting her healthy and…”  
Arthur stopped and just looked at Marie running around. He smiled and leaned his elbows to his knees. Arthur had aged: his temples had greyed and his crow's feet had gotten deeper as he made a sad smile to himself. “She was born early and with serious defects in her heart. The first time I saw her she was just two days old. She was no bigger than my arm. She was pale and she was dying.”  
“Why were you there?”  
“I needed something, something to do. Something that was genuine and not just imagined. I had all this money and no life. I could no longer sleep well” He abruptly stopped and looked at directly at Eames: “ I needed to tell myself that world was worth living in. I became the typical american that tries to buy righteousness with money and charity work. I volunteered and I went away. No one asks questions in there as long as you can work and take care of people and clean. They don’t ask you about your history and you don’t have to be anything.” He sighs: “But I found her and that is what saved me. I know it’s ridiculous to say it like that but I stopped and found life. I haven’t been able to do that before. With her I can. I can find joy in baking bread and reading Winnie the Pooh for her in the evenings.”

Marie ran to Arthur and she crawled to his lap: “Dad can we go inside and eat those creps now? I’m cold.”  
Arthur kissed her cheek and nodded. He stood up with her grabbing onto him. He turned to Eames: “You coming? I make the best creps and the batter has been waiting for us.” Marie was extending her tiny arm towards Eames and he grabbed it as Arthur slowly walked towards the cottage.

That evening after Arthur had put Marie to bed and Eames had meanwhile cleaned the kitchen Arthur opened a bottle of white wine and poured them both a glass: “You are staying for the night with me?” Eames unaccustomed to having Arthur be so frank with him got stumped for words  
“I...yeah...yes.”  
“I know that you are not going to stay but I get lonely without adult company and well, I have needs. Alcohol is here just for your benefit. If I remember correctly you were more relaxed after few drinks.” Arthur’s monotone voice filled Eames’s head as the man continued: “I don’t really need you for the job, I have a field team now and I don’t travel myself anymore. I just wanted to see if you’d come for me. Do you still want to fuck me old man?”

Arthur gulped the entirety of his glass and walked up to Eames and leaned down for a dry and violent kiss. Their teeth knocked together and Arthur’s hand was grabbing the back of his neck tightly. As he pulled away from the kiss he saw a sly smile on Arthur’s face: “Well then.” He pulled of his sweatshirt and sat on the edge of the kitchen table. With his knees he spread Eames’s legs and leaned backwards to rest his weight on his elbows. Just under Arthur’s collarbone was a tiny tattoo of a small lilac pansy with Marie inked with beautiful lettering next to it.

Eames’s chair made a scraping sound sliding on the floorboards as he leaned over Arthur and pushed the man flat against the table surface for another kiss. He smelled and nosed around Arthur’s neck and chest and couldn’t help the animalistic grunts he was making as he was the same time trying to open his shirt and belt. Arthur was so close, so available, just as he had remembered. He felt Arthur’s hands slip inside his trousers and grab his cock. Their kissing was messy and wet.

Suddenly Arthur pushed against his chest violently and he lost his balance and painfully hit his knee to the table edge.  
“I’m sorry. I don’t want this after all.” Arthur was now pushing harder and he sprang up from under him mumbling: “It doesn’t feel right. Not anymore.”  
He walked over to the window and was pulling the sweatshirt back on. Without turning he continued to rattle: “I thought I could do this and we’d be perfect. You’d stay and I’d get what I always dreamt about. I shouldn’t have invited you. You probably didn’t need this and I’m mean for doing it. I’m sorry.”

He was out of breath and his erection was still painfully obvious in his trousers. With a sigh he tightened his belt back on: “No need to be sorry.” The words came out as insincere. He would have liked to have fucked Arthur again after all these years. Get back the ecstasy they had so many time shared before but he wasn’t going to cross any lines with Arthur. He sat back down and repeated with more severity in his voice: “It’s OK. Whatever you want.” Even his best effort failed him, he’d never fool Arthur that he wasn’t upset.  
“So why did you ask me here then?” Why was everything he was saying sound so obvious?

Arthur turned: “I want to fucking rile you up!” He shouted and then slapped his hand on top of his mouth. He turned his head towards Marie’s bedroom and stopped breathing, trying to listen if the girl had been awoken. When no sound came from the direction of the bedrooms he continued hissing: “I hated you for so long. I wanted you to go away for so long and then I was mad when you went away. You always left when I needed you the most! And you never gave me any reason! And even more I hate myself for letting me be stuck on you for years, years…”

His voice crumbled and he began walking away from the kitchen. With no awareness of what he was doing Eames jumped in front of the man and physically stopped him from leaving. He had about two stones and several width inches to Arthur and he realised he was angry. Blocking and slightly challenging Arthur by bumping to his chest, already embarrassed of the primal rage effect this situation had so swiftly risen from him. Arthur was very dangerous if he was pushed into a corner and he was well aware of that but he still wasn’t expecting the punch. Not so fast and not so soon without any forewarning. Ferocious punch landed to his throat and made him violently stagger backwards and he could see the terrified look Arthur had as he realised what he had done. With no chance to slow his fall Eames fell back to the floor and he began instinctively clawing his throat. His airway was blocked and he could no longer breath.

Arthur dropped to his knees and looked mortified. He tried to stop Eames from clawing his throat and began pressing his windpipe slightly from both sides as if trying to open the crushed throat. “Oh god, oh god, oh god. Jesus christ! What did I do! Oh god!”

Eames stopped clawing and took ahold of Arthur’s hands. His sidevision had gone and he could only see Arthur’s panicked face. He felt his heartbeat slow down and with each fading pulse he tightened his hold on Arthur’s hands. He wanted the man to see. Arthur had began pulling away and his face turned from shock to pure horror and Eames’s vision began filling with white. He just continued to clamp Arthur’s hands as long as he could and soon he felt his own nails push to his palm and Arthur’s touch was gone. Through his hazy vision and concentration he lifted his see-through hand and placed it on Arthur’s cheek and vanished.

**Indaco/Reverie ******

The corridor is long and the night lighting made the whole place eery. The rooms are modern glass boxes so that the duty nurses can see into all the rooms. Arthur’s room is to the side, with most curtains pulled in front to the glass walls. He nods to the two nurses at the station and walks towards Arthur’s cubicle but before he gets to the door, he stops. Marie sits next to the bed and holds his father’s hand. She looks tired but so calm. She’s all long limbs and proud shoulders like her father and Eames could never tell they weren't biologically related. Her whole being radiates a proud woman raised by a man that now rests hooked up to different monitors and wires.

She’s been there for 26 years of his life longer than Eames was ever able to stand next to the man. She knew him better than anyone. She’s the heir to a man and technology that was now seen as key to the reformed modern day therapy. People could step out of the world into a dream and heal themselves together in shorter times than ever. With proper guidance the inner demons were healed with technology originally designed for crushing the mind.

For the first time in his life Eames was afraid of facing someone. He hovered on the edge of the curtained area afraid that Marie would lift her look from her father and see him there. A coward of a man he was sure his father spared no words describing. He wondered how much of their story Arthur had shared if any. Was the years of baggage just transferred into the daughter's mind with stories and truths told.

The light reflects his own face from the window. For some reason he’s young again. His lines are gone and his hair isn’t grey anymore, it never happened before. He’s too focused on his own face to notice that Marie has lifted her head and is looking straight at him. Their eyes meet. She’s neither angry nor sad. She raises from the chair and nods to him.

She retreats to the corner of the room as Eames walks in. She almost touches him but just before contact pulls her hand away as if she wouldn’t dare to break the illusion. Arthur has aged just as he imagined. Deep frown lines and thinned out lips. His hair is still strong but silvery grey and like they had joked all those years ago his ears were even bigger. _“What are you saying dear, I can’t hear you well!” ___

Arthur’s left pinky and ring finger are gone. Eames stops because he doesn't know what has happened to them. He lost two decades of the man’s life and he must have hurt them during that time. The body is fragile and small, collarbones are sharp against the thin skin and his eyelashes are almost but gone. He wants to see if Arthur’s eyes are still as bright as they were before. Despite all that Arthur is here, just like he remembered him.

He sits down to a chair and places his hand to the man’s shoulder: “Arthur darling.”  
He stirs and opens his eyes slowly. They are the eyes he remembers, soft and hazy hue now covering them. He leans in closer: “Darling can you hear me?” He cannot seem to focus but the eyes dart around. Eames raises from the chair and sits to the bed so that he can lean over Arthur better. And just like that Arthur is looking at him and smiling: “Eames!”  
“Yes darling it’s me.” His eyes fill with tears so fast droplets fall to Arthur's face and he lifts his weak arms rest to Eames’s neck:  
“You just faded away.”  
“I know. I wasn’t able to control it, except for that one time in Rome.”  
“You faded. You faded away in here, in life. Not in my memories.” Arthur shakes his head in disbelief.  
“I’m here now. We are old men together.” Eames looks at his hand touching Arthur’s cheek. His hands are old and wrinkly too. Arthur places his damaged hand to Eames’s wet cheeks and moves his thumb around slowly:  
“I love you.” He turns his head towards Marie who has walked over to his other side and extends his other arm to be held by her: “I love you so much sweetheart.” Marie is crying now and her hands are shaking.  
“I love you too dad.” She leans in and kisses his forehead. “You can let go now.”  
Arthur smiles: “Goodbye.”  
With that the image of Arthur fades away.

 

**Melodia Africana III ******

Mal’s smile was so lovely, she used to grip his hand and hold them against her cheek. She had been the one to point to him how beautiful Arthur looked when he smiled. For those rare occasion Eames would have wanted a camera instead of his memories. His memories were scattered and he often remembered the tumultuous times instead of the good. He saw the arguments more often than the embraces. He only wanted to remember the happy nights. 

The night they had broken into a travelling carnival and had kissed for hours inside the teacup ride or the time when Arthur had fallen asleep on top of him in that Langkawi beach with his huge sunhat covering both of their faces. Or the time when Arthur had held crying James on a cold bathroom floor. He’d watched Arthur calming the young man down and later watched those elegant fingers cleaning and wrapping the gruesome cut’s on James’s wrists.

For years he hadn’t dared to tell the man he loved the truth, the truth about loving him more than anything in the world. Instead he’d let his mind and body run away. Run away from the responsibility he should have taken.

Over the course of decades his moments with Arthur were so limited. Decades made the years seem too short. He was robbed of life in Tangiers that night. He had never enjoyed life to the fullest; his ultimate happiness and sadness was lost to him, never experienced and shared.

The bedroom was light and airy. With heaving effort he rolled from his side to sit on the edge of the bed. His own crooked fingers were resting on his knees as he watched outside. The last of the last had gone now. He was alone. Eames closed his eyes and saw Arthur, young and boisterous standing in front of him with a questioning look on his face:  
“Am I dead?”  
“No. I was all this time.”  
Arthur's face is soft and relaxed with tears pooling into his eyes: “Did you love me?”  
He takes those short steps and embraces the man. He feels the shoulder blades, the knobbly vertebrae and long arms. His cheeks feel the curled hair. The sharp hip bones pressing against him, the smell of Arthur. He’s just holding Arthur.  
“Yes Arthur. I love you more than anything else in this world.”

For the first time in his life, without forewarning, Eames dies.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs from albums:  
> The Earth Prelude (2016): The Earth Prelude single  
> Elements (2015): Petricor  
> In A Time Lapse (2013): Discovery At Night  
> Ludovico Einaudi: Portrait (2015): Fuori Dalla Notte/Fuori Dal Mondo  
> Divenire (2006): Svanire and Primavera  
> La Notte Della Taranta 2010 (2011): La Notte della Taranta - Pizzica de Aradeo  
> Nightbook (2009): Indaco and Reverie  
> I giorni (2001): Melodia Africana III


End file.
